


Practically Perfect

by second_skin



Series: Mystrade Chronicles (Fluff with Slightly Silly Mycroft) [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:03:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Mycroft tries to propose to Greg. It's not as easy at it seems.</em>
</p><p>
<em>Some people let their freak flag fly. This is my fluff flag. No apologies.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Practically Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> _Title references the Mycroft Poppins trope, of course.  
>  Written for lucybun's fall Mystrade festival 2011 in response to a prompt by greenie1980 that asked for Mycroft attempting to make his proposal to Lestrade extra special, perhaps taking place on the London Eye. This also partially fulfills a promise to marysutherland for a story in which Mycroft attempts to climb something--I keep trying to get that one right._   
>  _Originally posted under old pseud; reposting under new._

Sherlock stood, adjusted his handsome purple silk tie and tapped the crystal water goblet in front of him three times. The assembled guests slowly quieted in anticipation.

"It is time for us all to raise a glass to honor the happy couple. And by tiresome tradition, it is time for me--as best man--to say a few words." He paused to be sure he had everyone's _full_ attention and then continued. "My brother has a tendency to overstep boundaries. He is controlling and condescending. A true perfectionist--which might be an admirable trait, were he not inclined to muck up every situation by inserting his opinions, useless directives, and . . ."

"Sherlock," whispered John, tugging angrily at his sleeve. "Get on with it. You promised!"

Sherlock sniffed and set his jaw resolutely. He _had_ made some foolish promise under the influence of John's tongue in his ear--and elsewhere--last night, hadn't he? _Well, fine then._

"As I was saying, my brother is a perfectionist. Many of you are not aware that he tried three times to ask Lestrade to marry him. He failed miserably each time because the towering romantic edifice he tried to construct fell to pieces before him like the proverbial house of cards."

"Sherlock!"

"Shut up, John. You're ruining my speech," hissed Sherlock, giving John a swift kick under the table with his elegant--and pointy-- Armani shoe.

"The first aborted proposal occurred atop the London Eye. Mycroft had arranged for himself and Lestrade to enjoy a solitary spin, complete with a bottle of absurdly expensive Cabernet and a dozen chocolate-dipped strawberries. The man is an obscene sensualist and glutton, but that's beside the point. When informed that a thunderstorm was approaching, he foolishly continued with his plan. The storm clouds did indeed roll in while he and Lestrade were riding high above the glittering lights of the city, presumably snogging away like shameless teenagers. Snogging away under that umbrella I'm sure we've all come to detest. Snogging away under an umbrella--the tip of which was the highest point for many hundreds of meters around and therefore a likely conductor of electric current, should lightning strike in the vicinity . . ."

Sherlock waited for the gasps of the assembled wedding party to die down before continuing.

"Fortunately, one of my brother's minions--his chauffeur, Carlos, I believe, had the good sense to demand that the two of them leave the Eye--and pulled Mycroft's body forcibly out of his seat just before that fateful lightning strike occurred. Lives saved, disaster averted---but has Carlos been commended for his quick thinking? I doubt it. I suspect my brother still blames him for thwarting his first attempt to make an honest man of Lestrade."

The crowd giggled and looked with sympathy toward Mycroft, who shrugged and blushed.

"The second time Mycroft tried to ask for the D. I.'s clumsy, thick-fingered hand in marriage was when they were members of the audience for a telly cooking show with a woman--I believe her name was Nigella Something?" Sherlock glanced at John, who frowned reproachfully and mumbled, "Lawson, Sherlock. Nigella Lawson. I told you this three times."

"Ah. Yes. Nigella Lawson. Well, it seems that Mycroft had made prior arrangements with the show's producers that he would be chosen from the audience to bake and decorate a rather elaborate six-layer cake with this Lawson woman. And at the end, in a sickening display of sentiment, he was to present the cake and his proposal to Lestrade, prompting cheers and tears from the entire imbecilic audience. What could possibly go wrong, you ask?"

At this point, Mycroft chimed in from his position at the other end of the table, beside his groom, and answered ruefully, "In a word: everything!"

Sherlock smiled and continued. "Indeed. Everything. Ms. Lawson was taken ill before the programme and was replaced at the last minute by another chef, Mr. Gordon Ramsay."

A gasp of horror shot through the crowd. Sherlock smiled.

"Apparently, Mr. Ramsay is a formidable individual--one of the few men in the world who actually terrifies my brother. Mycroft was called to the stage, tucked a tea towel under his belt and proceeded to become so nervous that he destroyed the entire kitchen, set Mr. Ramsay's shirt on fire, lobbed a dozen fresh eggs at the camera operator, and twisted his ankle attempting to walk across a floor smeared with butter cream frosting."

Sherlock passed around a selection of candid photographs of the scene he'd obtained from the show's producers and waited for the giggles and guffaws to diminish. "Needless to say, again, the proposal was postponed."

"Mycroft's final attempt--certainly the most foolhardy of them all--took place last autumn. At one of many drunken pub nights with the Yarders, Lestrade revealed that among his favorite films is _Maurice,_ that sentimental, pretty-men-in-pretty-houses, cross-class romance. So Mycroft set about planning a reenactment."

Sherlock paused to let the ladies' ooohs and ahhhs die down before going on.

"He and Lestrade went on a weekend holiday to the posh country home of one of Mummy's friends. Late one night, dressed in the best version of an under gamekeeper's outfit he could muster, Mycroft took a ladder and attempted to climb up into the second floor bedroom window." Sherlock rolled his eyes and paused again, until the sighs and squeals had quieted.

"I mention that this was the most foolhardy of all my brother's attempted proposals because it's well-known that he has no affinity for legwork--which includes climbing ladders. Halfway up, he lost his balance and fell backwards into the roses and brambles and had to be carted to the A & E twenty miles away."

The audience giggled and _awwww'ed_ , while Mycroft did a quick facepalm and emptied his champagne glass down his throat.

"Okay, enough preamble, Sherlock. Now tell everyone how the proposal finally happened so we can all have a drink and get this party started," John insisted--tapping impatiently at his watch.

"Oh, all right. In his typical plodding, lackluster style, Lestrade called Mycroft to a messy crime scene one day last January. He claimed that he needed Mycroft to come and collect me because he couldn't bear my presence any longer, and I was offering no useful information at all. So obviously, a lie---I don't know why my brother bought that nonsense, but he did. When Mycroft arrived, Lestrade met him at the car, fell immediately to one arthritic, bony knee and said . . ."

At this point Greg stood up with a tipsy grin, and yelled, "I can't live another bloody day without you, Mycroft! You're damn near as infuriating as your brother, but I love you. Will you marry me?"

Sherlock waited for the cheering and clapping and sniffling to stop before finally raising his glass for the Best Man's Toast.

Nodding to Mycroft, who was blushing again and gripping Greg's hand as if he had no intention of ever letting go, Sherlock said simply,

"Cheers and congratulations to my brother, who can now stop his foolish pursuit of perfection--because on this day he's finally found it."

 


End file.
